


If You Were Homework, I'd Do You

by Scarecrowqueen



Series: Can I have directions… to your heart? [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Jack is Scary Jack, Artist!Everyone, Bad Pick-Up Lines Only Get You So Far Jack, Crossdressing, F/M, Hipster!Jack, Kink Meme, M/M, Sad Things Happen Sometimes, Schoolgirlforacause!Sandy, Tooth is Nick's Little Warrior Queen, college shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowqueen/pseuds/Scarecrowqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aster Bunnymund left home for art school full of hope for a bright future as a professional painter.  Now, with one semester left to graduation, he finds himself a little more bitter, a little more jaded, and facing down the mortal enemy of all hopeful graduates everywhere:</p><p>The mandatory English requirement, complete with the dreaded group project.</p><p>At least his best friend is with him.  His best friend's girl and the sleepy blonde dude seem pretty cool, too.  The annoying little Hipster with the fantastic voice and terrible pick up lines will have to go, though.</p><p>Too bad for Aster, but Jack isn't going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Tooth Gets Flustered

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a combined fill for two prompts on the Kink meme, found [here](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=5284437#cmt5284437) and [here](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=5284693#cmt5284693)
> 
> Hope the OP-anons don't mind the combo fill, the ideas just meshed in my brain and, well, look what I've done now. THIS IS WHY I CAN'T BE LEFT UNNATTENDED ON THE KINK MEME, GUYS!

Joyce College of Art and Design, was perhaps one of the most prestigious arts schools in the country. When Aster had been writing his college applications, it had always been his first and foremost choice, despite being several states away from his family. The day the acceptance letter came was still possibly the best day of his life. Had packed his things, said goodbye to his friends and family, and made the cross country trip in his beat-up old Civic. He remembers now being so full of hope, high on his own aspirations. Someday soon, he’d be a world-renowned painter; who’s oils would make people talk, and watercolours would make people cry.

Until he discovered that college was about 20 percent actual art, and about 80 percent academic bullshit. Like the mandatory English requirement he’d been dodging since first year, and now, with one semester left to go until graduation, forced to complete if he wanted a chance to walk that stage with his peers. Seriously, though, he’d been speaking the language since birth, and OK, the Aussie accent and uncommon vernacular were a little... exotic, but he got his point across. Mostly. Usually. Ok, Nick had to translate for his sometimes, but whatever.

Aster slumped into a chair in the back corner. He could already tell this class was going to be hell. Thank god Nick had been procrastinating too, and they were able to swing it so they were together in their misery. Aster didn’t know how else he’d survive with his best friend at his side, and oh, look, speak of the devil, there was the tall Russian transfer student now, trailing along behind the pretty, delicate dark-skinned young lady he’d been practically salivating over since Spring Term two years back. He seemed to be doing well so far, speaking animatedly with the girl while she blushed and giggled, tiny hand with bubblegum pink nails over her magenta lips, her voluminous shirt a cacophony of different pinks and reds today, all offset by a wide white belt, a pair of white leggings and sunshine yellow pumps. Eye-catching Sheila, that one. Nick and the girl, Terri, no, Tara, or something, made their way to Aster’s table and joined him, settling in and pulling out their books and binders while greeting him. Aster offers a friendly smile to both his friend and the new face, and then another to the young man with ruffled golden blonde hair and fantastic tan who pulls up the last chair in the rapidly-filling class. He gives his table mates a warm, sleepy smile, and Aster couldn’t help but think he looked like should have a surfboard under his arm, and probably also a joint in his mouth, but Hell, Aster wasn’t there to judge.

Until the twiggy kid in the skinny jeans with the plaid scarf and Hipster glasses came tearing into the class bare seconds before being tardy. The pair of beat-up converse on his feet smack the floor loudly with each surprisingly heavy footfall, and his spindly arms are weighed down with far too many books to fit into his ancient canvas messenger bag. The precarious stack nearly topples onto several other students as he makes his way to the back of the room toward the very last empty seat in the case at the table in front on Aster. As the boy closes in, he somehow manages to catch Aster’s eyes, offering him a cheery grin that seemed somehow too wide for his thin face; chocolate brown hair and eyes stark against almost sickly-pale skin, and only accentuating the smudge of freckles across his nose. He somehow makes it into the chair without incident, depositing the books with a grunt and whipping out a notebook and pen with brisk efficiency just as the professor stands to begin. Try as he might, Aster can’t quite keep his eyes off the back of the boy’s remarkably boring head.

The class drags for the entire 90 minutes of the two hour class as the prof drones on about syllabuses and required reading and large group projects, and Aster feels his attention drifting off, reduced to doodling in the margins of his paper. He comes up with little cartoony caricatures of himself, Nick, Nick’s girl, the blonde dude, and the hipster kid before a pile of books lands abruptly on the table in front of him, startling Aster so badly his pencil tears the page straight though skinny-kid’s waifish figure. Aster looks up, heart racing in shock, straight into the very face he’d just been scribbling. Hipster kid has stunningly even, white teeth up close, even if an almost disturbing amount of them is currently being displayed by his smiling mouth.

“Wow, you really weren’t paying attention, were you Fluffy?” The kid’s voice is jovial as he deftly drags his chair, taking a backwards seat on the opposite side of the table from everyone. He learns forward, back curving so he can cross his arms on the low back of the chair and rest his chin on them, and the boy is so slender Aster can see the knobs of his spine through his god-awful sweater, with it’s too-long sleeves and unfortunate hound’s-tooth pattern clashing with the mustard yellow plaid of his scarf. Also, Fluffy? The boy can go fuck himself; seriously, it’s not Aster’s fault that even when shoved under his bandanna his unmanageable ash-blonde hair still curled so wildly it defied gravity. Aster scowls at the kid, hoping the power of his disapproval somehow manages to set the smug little face on fire, but the boy’s still just grinning at him like the annoying little shit that he totally is. They stare each other off for what must be an uncomfortably long amount of time, but the grin never fades. OK, Aster’s a little creeped out now, and he finds himself turning to look at Nick like the other could magically tell him why he was suddenly being harassed by a kid in dove grey skinny jeans. Nick just shrugs, used to Aster’s mood swings and nonexistent attention span and proceeds to explain. 

“Is group project, due last week of class. Presentation, essay, accompanying bibliography, to be completed in groups of five. Counts for half of final grade. Jack here would like to work with us.” Nick’s broad hand gesture makes it obvious that ‘us’ is everyone else seated at the table.

“No.” Aster grumps, flopping back in his seat and crossing his arms in what he knows is a juvenile move, but whatever, he never claimed to be a paragon of maturity. “Not putting up with a snot-nosed little Twink in his Grandad’s clothes.”

“But Kangaroo, it’ll be loads of fun! I’m the coolest kid in the class, promise. Besides, Twink’s are kinda like chocolate sauce, we go well spread over anything.” The last sentence was accompanied by a saucy wink in Aster’s general direction. The boy had a surprisingly rich, deep voice for such a scrawny little bastard, which was totally hitting on Aster’s long-standing voice kink. But honestly, he could ignore that. It didn’t mean anything, really, because obviously his words were far more pathetic and infuriating then the voice was sexy.

Right?

“Kangaroo? You on something mate? Cause I’d love to see the Dean chuck you out on yer ear, ya drongo.” The boy, Jack or something, whatever, just laughed.

“Aussie in a hoodie, what else would I call you, you haven’t told me your name yet.” Aster just glares again, holding his tongue to avoid losing his temper and causing a scene, but Nick, the disloyal bastard that he is, easily cuts in, knowing it’ll be an eternal Mexican standoff if he doesn’t.

“This is Aster, he is studio art major, painting is his, what you call, specialty?” Jack’s attention snaps from Aster to Nick as the other man speaks, but it takes Aster a second to shake himself out of his focus and do the same. “I am Nick, transfer from great mother Russia, wonderful country! I am also studio art major; in Sculpture. This,” here Nick indicated the pretty thing sitting next to him, “is Tiana, called Tooth. She is fashion major. To her right is, uh...” and Nick trails off, obviously not entirely sure who their final member is. The blonde in question is caught mid-yawn. He finishes and then smiles lazily, tapping his throat with two fingers and making a negative hand gesture. He tears a page of loose-leaf from his binder and writes a quick note in large, sweeping strokes of his pen. When he holds up the page, the whole group is able to read the three lines of block script:

SANDY  
COMPUTER-GENERATED GRAPHICS AND DESIGN  
S’UP, GUYS AND DOLL?

Aster feels himself smile; he thinks he likes this new guy. Of course that leaves-

“Jack Frost. Like I said, you probably haven’t heard of me. I’m majoring in glassblowing, no fellatio jokes please. I’ll be crashing your group this semester cause this guy” one thumb jerks in Sandy’s direction “is the only person I know in here. And Tooth, was it?” Jack’s mega-grin swivels in the sole females directions, the target looking a little surprised at being addressed directly. “May I say, that blouse is most certainly becoming on you.” The comment flusters Tooth, the girl almost stammering her response, fingers rubbing at the opposite sleeve in bashfulness and Aster can see Nick’s shoulders tightening.

“Ah, thank you Jack, it’s an original design actually.” Jack’s grin goes from friendly to flirty in about half a second flat.

“Of course,” the boy continues, “if I was on you, I’d most certainly be coming too.”

There is a flat awkward silence, in with Tooth’s eyes go very, very wide, and Nick’s mouth gets very, very tight, and Aster’s stomach get very, very tight, and Sandy tries very, very hard not to laugh. Then, Jack beats Sandy to it, howling like the monkey he is.

“Oh my god, you guys, it’s a joke!” Jack rolls his eyes playfully as he speaks. “Jeeze, you didn’t say nothing when I was scandalizing our friend from down under with my innuendo a second ago.”

“That is different!” Nick’s tone is stern, non-sense. “Tooth is lady, ladies are treated with respect, at least in Russia, we do. Are things so different here?” Jack seems to sense Nick’s true hurt, and his smile dims a bit, holding his hands up palms forward in a conciliatory gesture.

“Easy big guy, no harm meant, seriously. Sorry Tooth. Nick, sorry for taking a pass at your girl, even in jest.” Both Nick and Tooth seem taken aback by Jack’s casual assumption about their relationship, eying each other furtively while they hastily stutter denials, and OK, Aster is totally locking them in the art supply closet in studio B that the earliest available opportunity. After he kick’s Jack’s bony little ass for upsetting them, of course.

“But honestly,” Jack continues, graciously ignoring the couple who clearly aren’t fooling anyone but themselves, “I won’t do it again. Tooth’s not even my type, lovely though you are, miss.” Jack’s smile is ingratiating enough that Aster can almost see the moment Tooth forgives him, tentatively smiling back. “Naw, my type are a little more male, if you know what I mean.” Nick relaxes the rest of the way once he realizes that gay little stick men aren’t a threat to his almost-girlfriend, smiling at both new additions as they all settle into brainstorming for their project. Aster attempts to join in, or at least listen, but there is something in Jack’s profile as he leans forward, on his knees on the backwards chair, that keeps catching his attention in was both artistic, and very much not. He can already tell that this class is going to suck, and working with Jack will probably suck harder. Worse, he means, worse, cause ‘harder’ totally isn’t giving him ideas right now, yeah.

And really; mandatory English class.

Just, _fuck his life._


	2. In Which Pitch Black Gives Some Dubious Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So get this, Pitch Black? Boogeyman extraordinaire? Is a ballroom dancing enthusiast. It’s how he met his wife, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped, felt it was necessary.

Aster was sitting with his sketchpad on one of the many, many benches that dotted the college campus, when a great, looming shadow fell over him. At first, he ignored it, until the shadow settled on to the bench beside him, albeit with the mandatory 18 inches of personal bubble in between them. Sighing, Aster slid his sketchpad into his bag, removing his earbuds to as to fully appreciate the conversation to follow.

“Pitchiner.” Aster greeting the man in black in usual dry, deadpan fashion.

“You and Jackson need to fuck.” Aster blinked for a second at that, momentarily stunned until he connected the dots and realized Pitchiner was talking about Jack Frost. As for the statement itself, well, that was hardly surprising in the slightest, considering the source. Kozmotis ‘Pitch Black’ Pitchiner had a reputation around campus as the most unsettling man alive, and as someone who’d had repeated dealings with him over the years, Aster knew it to be true. 

“You’re going to have to give me a reason, Pitch, cause from where I’m standing? That’ll happen sometime after pigs become aviation enthusiasts.”

“Simple. You want him; he clearly wants you, considering he can’t shut up about you ‘brilliant green eyes’ and your ‘super-sexy accent’.” The sentence was spoken in such a way that the air-quotes were practically visible. Which was good, because Aster didn’t think he wanted to live in a world where Pitchiner found him attractive in any way. “He needs an outlet for all that youthful exuberance, and you need someone to dislodge the redwood currently caught in a deathgrip by you sphincter. It’s a win-win situation, truly.” Pitch still hasn’t looked at Aster yet, sitting in that stiff, straight-backed way that he seemed to think was lounging, eyes carefully picking out the details of every other person in the South courtyard save for his bench mate. Typical Pitch, he talked through everyone like they were on the other side of his camera, never too them. Film majors; douche bags the lot of them. “As an aside,” Pitch continued, “you seem to have been wearing the same shirt for three days now. Perhaps you need and enthusiastic little house-husband to take care of domestics while you play Van Gogh in your endless parade of Metallica t-shirts.”

“It’s a different t-shirt. I just own a lot of them all black and paint-splattered, is all.” Aster scowled. It was a lie; he was wearing the same shirt, so sue him for being behind on his laundry. And his dishes. And his grocery shopping. And pretty much anything else domestic, damn the other man for pegging him so well! “Also, I’m not touching Frost with a twenty foot pole and someone else’s dick strapped to the end. D’ya hear what he said to Tooth? Or that librarian? Or that Janitor with the lazy eye? Mark me, that boy’s out of control. Probably has some sort of nasty social disease, that one, and I value my junk.”

For some reason, this makes Pitch laugh. Or, laugh as much as Pitch ever does, which is usually just an indelicate snort, accompanied by a knife-slice of a grin that is always more shark-toothed than not.

“Trust me, the only social disease the boy has is a crippling case of awkward. He’s as virgin as freshly fallen snow if ever I’ve seen. Trust me; I can smell it on him.” And that, okay, that’s a strange statement, but Pitch is full of those, so Aster shrugs it off, not like it was literal or anything. Although, if anyone could smell virginity, it would be Pitch Black. In fact, it might even lend some credence to the rumour that he feasted on one, bones and all, once a month by the light of the full moon.

(On second thought, no, that one was totally bullshit. Who the fuck comes up with this stuff, anyways?)

“Still, no, so thanks for your clever attempt at matchmaking, but I’m going to pass. Besides, even if the kid is cherry, he’s still a right little lecher. It’s like, everything he learned about sex and dating came from a porn website.”

“Jackson needs to learn not to try so hard, and I wouldn’t be surprised if tawdry internet pornography was in fact his only sexual education. Not as if that fact makes him much different from most of the youth of today.” Pitch’s sneer at the thought is rather impressive, but most of his facial expressions, when he deigns to make them, usually are. “He’s a small town boy though, homeschooled through his teen years, and if the allusions he’s made in casual conversation are to be believed, it was the kind of town where boys like him were more likely to be lynched then laid.” Aster feels something cold slide down his spine; and he tells himself it isn’t a mix of concern and sympathy.

“Boys like him?” He finds himself asking, although they both know he doesn’t actually need the clarification.

“Homosexual.” The one word has Pitch’s lips thinning, bloodless. Aster can feel the railroad spike of fury and shame in his gut. He doesn’t know what that’s like; when he came out as Bi, his family barely even blinked at him before he was told that marrying a man wouldn’t exempt him from the ‘minimum three kids to a household’ quota that seemed to be a requirement for remaining a part of his family. (Seriously though, the next person who made a crack about breeding like _Bunny_ munds...)

“Is that a python in your pants, Pitch, or are you just happy to see me?” Both men looked up, startled by Jack’s voice. The boy stood in front of them, bag over his shoulder, usual shit-eating grin firmly in place. His outfit was as atrocious as normal, and really, Aster hadn’t known they even made plaid in tones of baby-shit brown. He didn’t have much time to think about it though before the boy was bouncing onto the seat between them. Pitch nearly leapt to his feet, desperate to keep his personal bubble intact, a fact that Jack must have known judging by the little smirk he tossed him. For his part, Pitch composed himself in half a second, smoothing down the rumpled silk his Victorian-era waistcoat, and adjust the high priest collar of his button down. He arches one, smooth eyebrow at Jack, who, despite the extra space on the bench, remains plastered to Aster’s side like his long-lost conjoined twin.

“As always, Jackson, I remain charmed by your unusual wit.” Pitch’s tone was so dry Aster suddenly felt thirsty. Jack didn’t seem thrown at all though, laughing gaily and giving Pitch a half-wave as the man turned to leave. As he walks away, Aster catches himself admiring the shape of Pitch’s rear and endlessly long legs beneath the well-tailored black slacks.

“Hate to see him leave, but could watch him go all day, right?” Jack’s voice cuts in and Aster turns his head on autopilot, realizing only after he does so that, as close as Jack is sitting, their faces are now mere inches from each other. It should be awkward, Aster feels it’s awkward, but he’s out of bench to move over. Then Jack is speaking again and the awkwardness of their closeness fades into utter mortification at the topic of conversation. “Come on, Aster! Dat ass? Dem legs? You know what I’m talking about. Given half the chance I’d climb that man like a tree, and possibly fuck myself on every branch on the way down.”

Aster flushes, both from the rather colourful metaphor, and Jack’s casual scrutiny. The boy’s face up close a constellation of freckles and one, tiny little scar just beneath his pouty lower lip, and Aster momentarily has the desire to taste it.

Right before he strangles the desire so violently he can practically hear its death rattle.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.” Denial was good, when in doubt denial always worked, because one did not simply get caught ogling Pitch Black, of all people. Jack for his part, just rolls his eyes like Aster is transparent, which considering it’s pretty much how he was feeling at the moment, it wasn’t really a shock.

“So get this, Pitch Black? Boogeyman extraordinaire? Is a ballroom dancing enthusiast. It’s how he met his wife, you know.” Intrigued, Aster couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“His wife?” 

“Yeah, he was married once, a real young couple. He came home one day when his daughter was just a baby to find his wife in bed with the city’s best divorce lawyer. Before you can say ‘ugly split’ he’s out a house, a job, a wife and a kid. I know he hasn’t seen his little girl since, at least, not in person. He gets to Skype her every once in a while, when the uptight cow decides to unclench enough for it to happen.” Aster finds himself shaking his head, slightly marvelled.

“So tell me, how does a twiggy little freshie like you find this out?” Jack’s smile is beyond self-satisfied.

“I’m his roommate, I know all his secrets. Did you know that he and Sandy are, like, BFF’s? I come home more often than not to find them Mystery Science Theater-ing the ever-loving crap outta some bad B horror flick. I join them, sometimes” Somehow, Aster can totally picture that.

“Wait, how does Sandy do a voice-over when he can’t speak?” This time, the force of Jack’s eye roll is nearly audible.

“He signs, dumbass. Just doesn’t bother around the English group, because I’m the only one who understands and he hates having his friends roped into translating.” That made an awful lot of sense, so Aster let it go to ask the next most obvious question.

“Still, Pitch is set to graduate, why’s he in res with a wee ickle freshman anyways?” Jack shrugs, and still pressed to Aster’s side as he is, the motion moves Aster’s shoulder a bit too. Huh, Aster had almost forgotten about the firm pressure of Jack’s tiny frame against his own until just now.

“I’m the only one they could find in a pinch who was cool with Julia.” 

“Who in the seven hells is Julia?” Jack’s grin is positively wicked.

“Pitch’s twelve-foot long Boa Constrictor. She gives great hugs, I’ll have you know.” Aster can’t quite suppress his shudder, which Jack doubtless feels through the parts of them that touch. Boy better not say anything smart, cause it’s not his fault at all that snakes have always been his biggest phobia.

“Aww, is the little bunny afraid of the big, mean Alethinophidia?” Jack teases with a remarkably gentle smile on his face, Aster notices, even as he fumes internally at the kid’s cheek.

“If by ‘Alethinophidia’ you mean ‘giant fucking reptile made entirely of spinal column,’ then yes, yes I am. Problem, mate?” The challenge in Aster’s voice is clear.

“No, not at all, Bunnyhop. I will say this though...” Jack leans in close, so close that Aster can feel his warm breath on his ear and neck as the boy whispers. “We’re late to English, darling. Race you there?”

Before Aster can form a coherent reply, the boy is up and fleeing, gone in a flash of heinously bad fashion and mad cackling laughter. Aster snatches up his own bag and charges after, his much longer legs steadily eating up the distance that Jack’s natural quickness had put between them.

Boy wanted to race a Bunnymund, did he? Well, Aster would show him why that wasn’t a good idea, as soon as he caught up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I swear the 'three kid minimum' informal rule is in effect in my mother's family. I'm only 1/3 of the way there, the might revoke my membership soon...
> 
> Crossposted to Fanfiction.net, my Dreamwidth journal, and the ROTG Kink meme.


	3. In Which Sandy Can't Actually Pass as a Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Sandy, reliable Sandy; his hair it’s familiar tousled gold, his dreamy expression firmly in place. There was at least twenty bucks in singles tucked into a lace garter high on his unshaved thigh, just below the place where his boxer-briefs stuck out from under the short, pleated skirt he’d borrowed from Tooth.

Aster propped up a wall in the farthest corner of the room, idly swirling his flat beer in his red Solo cup. All around him, drunken people danced badly and made out on stained old couches, downing liquor like it was going out of style. These frat parties really weren’t Aster’s style, he preferred a quite night with a beer and a good flick to be honest, but Sandy had invited them all to this year’s gender bender fundraiser, and in the interest of English project-mate solidarity, he’d attended.

Also, he might’ve been looking forward, just a little, to the amusement value of Sandy in a dress. All around him the other frat boys wandered amongst the crowd, distributing drinks, making small talk, all while collecting the ‘tips’ to be donated into generous fake cleavage, or tucked into the waistband of their booty shorts. It was a fairly enterprising idea, stuff a bunch of debatably manly guys into the silliest, girliest outfits they could find, and turn them loose in the crowd for the entertainment. A handful had really run with the theme, shaving and plucking and donning convincing wigs and falsies, but most, including Sandy, simple shoehorned themselves not something from their sister’s or girlfriends closest and called it good.

Ah, Sandy, reliable Sandy; his hair it’s familiar tousled gold, his dreamy expression firmly in place. There was at least twenty bucks in singles tucked into a lace garter high on his unshaved thigh, just below the place where his boxer-briefs stuck out from under the short, pleated skirt he’d borrowed from Tooth. His button-up blouse was tied up to bare his navel, and his thin, unfeminine lips were very poorly painted a lovely shade of whore red. He was wandering round in unclad feet, smartly evading the stomping boots of yet another drunken ‘dancer’ as he made his way between partygoers on a beeline straight for Aster. When he arrived, he signed a quick ‘hello,’ which Aster returned, much more slowly. It may not have been necessary, since Sandy’s ears worked fine, but it was good practice regardless. In the month since his talk with Jack, Aster had taken the initiative to learn as much sign language as he could, and while it was slow going and he barely knew more than the alphabet and a couple simple phrases, he knew that his new friend appreciated the gesture very much. In fact, Nick and Tooth had quickly picked up on that and joined in, and now they could all hold very slow, stilted conversations in sign. Jack for his part was immensely helpful, always willing to sit down and help someone when needed. Jack was actually surprisingly dedicated in many ways. Aster had learned over their weeks together working on the project that Jack called his sister twice a week without fail, volunteered once a month at both the nearby soup kitchen and animal shelter, and had stayed pen pals with the kids he’d used to babysit when he’d lived at home. This trait also spilled over into his work, where, despite his casual, flippant attitude, he was always willing to do just a little bit more then the strict 20% required of him. Aster was a bit ashamed to have most of his snap-judgments proven wrong. While Jack still had a trucker’s mouth, he also had a heart of gold in that skinny little chest.

(Not that Aster would ever tell him that. He had his pride, after all. Besides, if Jack wasn’t bright enough to have figured out that the Aussie was fond of him by now, there wasn’t any hope for the dear.)

“Sandy. Hoppin’ party this year, I see. Seen the others?” Sandy grinned and nodding, turning to point out Nick, who was holding court with a few freshies over in a corner, doubtlessly regaling them with tales of the parties in Mother Russia. Aster caught his eye and tipped his head in greeting, accepting his friend’s jaunty salute in turn. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Tooth making her way through the mass of bodies, her bright green leggings and oversized yellow sweater making her stick out like a sore thumb. She was as gorgeous as ever though, and possibly the only woman on earth who could pull off the colour and style combinations she did without looking utterly ridiculous. Now if only she could teach Jack a thing or two. Truthfully, the kid only had three basic style settings: bad, ugly, and crime against humanity.

“Sandy! Aster!” Tooth shared a megawatt grin with the boys, pulling both of them into tight hugs and enthusiastic cheek-kisses. Sandy laughed at the affection; eyes alight with his mirth as he playfully batted at her hair in its high ponytail. He made a drinking gesture, indicating the cup in her hand, and Tooth agreed that yes, she could use a refill, thanks. Sandy repeated the question to Aster, but he declined. Getting drunk tonight wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Tooth however seemed to be half in the bag, gigglier and louder than normal, making broad, dramatic gestures to highlight the points of her story. From over her shoulder, Aster watched as Nick’s attention repeatedly drifted their way, his blue eyes drinking in the sight of his crush. Aster caught his eye and raised one eyebrow pointedly, but Nick shrugged and looked away. Coward.

Tooth noticed Aster’s preoccupation almost immediately, turning to see what the big deal was. It wasn’t Nick that caught her eye first however, but another, slim, pale figure on the dance floor, one about Jack’s height and build, but with startlingly pure white hair, and lacking the usual glasses. Blinking, she tugged Aster’s sleeve and pointed until the man looked up.

“Aster, is that... Jack? What’s he doing?” Aster squinted a bit in the dim lighting, and sure enough, there was Jack with a new dye job and sans glasses, flailing about on the improvised dance floor, partner-less and with a good ‘safety buffer’ around him. Also, quite the audience it seemed although that maybe wasn’t a good thing. Aster almost groaned; doubtless his exploits would make it to YouTube tonight. 

“That’s him, Sheila, and I suppose he thinks he’s dancing.” Tooth leaned a bit forward, mouth pursed, like she could somehow divine answers through her piercing stare.

“But, what’s he _doing?_ ” Aster tilted his head, hoping the new angle would help.

“Looks like the shopping cart at the moment.”

“And now?”

“The sprinkler.”

“Ok, and wow, that one is...”

“Don’t know, never seen it before, but I think we’re gonna call it the Gremlin and be done, yeah?” Tooth just nodded sagely, like this was definitely the wisest course of action. Before Aster could even contemplate intervening, Sandy beat him too it, leading their enthusiastic friend off the dance floor and over to their corner. Jack talked excitedly the whole time, cheeks flushed from his previous exertions, and damn if it wasn’t the first time that Aster had even seen a hint of colour in that pasty face. It was a good look on the boy, too good if Aster’s sudden hormonal surge was any indication. He cleared his throat a bit, tasking a hasty sip of room-temperature beer as the two other males approached. Jack instantly fell upon Tooth, kissing her on the cheek with a loud, smacking noise that made her giggle. He eagerly fist-bumped Aster in the traditional greeting of bro’s everywhere, and then spun deftly, yanking a handful of crumpled ones from his pocket. Sandy pursed his lips, leaning forward a bit and wiggling his obviously fake ‘breasts’ as Jack shoved the handful of money into the sock-stuffed bra.

“For you, darling, as the bell of the ball.” Sandy smiled, both hands pressed to his cheeks in false modesty, batting his eye coquettishly at Jack as if to say ‘a girl like me? Oh, stop you!’ Tooth giggled again at their antics, and even Aster couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement. Jack, eternal ham that he was, snagged one of Sandy’s large, obviously masculine hands and clasped it dramatically between his own, as if wooing a delicate female lover. 

“My dear, I must be a snowflake, because I've fallen for you.” Jack’s intentionally cheesy grin and over the top delivery set Tooth off into another round of giggles, and Sandy into a large, soundless laugh. The other took his hand back, clapping Jack on the back before diving back into the fray, waving once over his shoulder as he snagged a tray of drinks to pass out. Aster watched him go before turning his attention to the drama llama currently to his left.

“So, what’s with the new do’, got sick of the old?” Jack chuckled turning to face Aster fully and for the first time the taller man could see the brilliant ice blue hue of the boy’s eyes, the obvious by-product of coloured contacts.

“Naw, this?” Jack ran one small hand trough his messy mop “Just, I’ve never been to a party like this, figured I could bring a bit of glamour with me, yeah? What, don’t you like it?” Aster was tempted to make a snarky comment, but something about Jack’s last sentence had sounded unexpectedly vulnerable, so he chose his words more carefully instead.

“Well, we certainly didn’t miss you in the crown, now did we?” Jack smiles then, a wide, true smile, the like of which didn’t come out to play very often, and even with his new look, Aster still found the sight of it particularly arresting. Seemingly please with Aster’s response, Jack turned on his heel, smile in place, to face Tooth.

“It’s very handsome, Jack.” She said, and Jack’s smile widened further, if possible, as her raised her free hand to his mouth, kissing the back like some kind of fairy tale prince, which caused Tooth to laugh yet again and smack him gently on the shoulder for teasing.

“And now, my favorite songbird,” Jack said, sliding into the space between Aster and Tooth so his back was also to the wall, “tell me... how many more of those fruity cocktails will it take before you cross this room, toss those interloping freshmen out of the way, and claim you’re man?” Tooth looked confused for a second, before following Jack’s line of sight to spot Nick across the room. The look on her face slid into one so longing that Aster felt uncomfortable watching.

“He... I mean I...” Tooth looked down that he empty cup in her hand, resolve creeping over her features. “One. One more will do it. Will you oblige Aster?” Slightly uneasy with the sudden conversational turn, Aster reached out on long arm, easily snagging the cocktail in question off of a passing tray carried by one of Sandy’s frat-brothers. Tooth took the cup like it contained the elixir of life, shooting it back like a pro before passing the empty to Jack. He took it almost solemnly, watching steadily as Tooth smoothed her hair back a bit, and did a two-second bra adjust to maximise her admittedly lacking cleavage. With a determined nod to herself, she started across the room, weaving between dancers and drunkards, only to climb clean over the freshmen seated on the ottoman to deposit herself in Nick’s lap. The poor man had only a moment of shock before Tooth was kissing him passionately, and it was only a moment more before he was just as happily returning it. Aster watched for another few seconds, wondering if this was also a thing that required intervention, before, once again, Sandy beat him too it, breaking the couple up just long enough to shoo them out the door to quieter, more private venues. 

“Well...” Aster said into the awkward silence that had fallen between him and Jack. “That was a thing. It happened. Can we never speak of it again?” Jack nodded in agreement.

“I’m with you. I mean, I’m happy, cause my god were they getting annoying, but seriously? Ew, hetero kissing. Too much vagina in the mix for my tastes.”

“Too much Nick in there for mine, man’s a brother to me, and there are things I don’t need to see.” Aster turns to regard the boy beside him, nothing the absence of the smell of booze on him, and that he appeared, for all intents, sober. “So, I’m done with this dog and pony show. Can we rack off? Grab us a bite?”

“Yeah sure, lead the way. No please, lead the way, how else am I gonna appreciate that fine ass all the way there?” Jack leers at Aster as they make their way to the door, and the force of Aster’s eye roll probably could have broken the neck of a lesser man.

“One of these days, ya drongo, you’re gonna make a pass at the wrong person, and you’ll be the sorrier for it.” Jack laughed as they stepped out into the cool spring air, like the very thought was ridiculous.

‘Please! Even if I did you’re all noble and stuff, you’d save me, wouldn’t you?” Aster didn’t even need to look over to know that Jack was giving him his best ‘helpless damsel’ face, peering up at Aster through long, dark lashes. The uncanny blueness the contacts gave his eyes was almost eerie in the dark, and Aster wished suddenly for the boy’s normal chocolate brown to return. It took everything he had to muster up a weak snort, falling back into their easy banter.

“Save you? Chuck you to the dragons more like, hear they love to chomp on pretty young things thrown their way.”

“Aww, Aster, you think I’m pretty?” Jack’s teasing tone sets parts of Aster best left ignored in public on fire, and he momentarily scrambles to find a response. 

“Pretty? Yeah sure I do. Pretty annoying, pretty loud, pretty obnoxious, pretty mouthy, pretty...”

“Okay, Okay, I get it! Geeze Aster, what is this, no love for the Jack? You’re breaking my heart Kangaroo.” Usually the nickname pissed Aster off and started a fight but tonight, tonight Aster just didn’t have the heart for it. In fact his heart was doing funny things at the moment, something halfway between breaking and coming back together.

“Yeah kid, no love.” Jack laughed and changed the subject, chattering away animatedly while Aster listened, letting the smooth voice watch over him.

Yeah, no love, absolutely not.

Right?


	4. In Which Nick is the Giver of Happy Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The table was utterly silent for a moment, the occupants carefully absorbing that thought. It was Sandy who spoke first, Leaning forward, two fingers tapping his throat in a repeat of the gesture he’d made the first day they’d met, Sandy’s smile seemed to say ‘it’s okay, you’re not the only special snowflake at the table.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks, real life is kicking my hindside of late. Also, this chapter required a bit of research too, you'll see what I mean.

Jack stalked up to the picnic table the friends had commandeered for their regularly scheduled meet up, fury written onto every line of his face. Chucking his bag to the ground with a previously unseen viciousness, he threw himself into the open seat next to Aster. He slammed his notebook onto the table so hard that Tooth’s Grande iced tea half-sweet nearly toppled off the edge, causing her to squawk in surprise and grab for it. Jack grunted in her direction in what could be vaguely considered and apology, but was so far outside of his usual dubious charm and good cheer that it was only worrying. They table fell silent, four pairs of eyes staring holes into jack as the boy sat there, tense and angrily flipping pages until he reached a fresh one, scribbling the date into the top corner so hard the pen tore through the page. It was only then that the boy deigned to lift his head and address his companions.

“The fuck is everyone staring at?”

Ah, Aster thought, absorbing the shock and sudden bashfulness of his tablemates, apparently angry Jack was scary Jack.

At least, scary to everyone else currently sitting there staring at the boy, all agape. Aster was barely even phased. Honestly, the boy was allowed to be pissed off sometimes, no one was that happy-go-lucky all the time. Not that it excused him from taking it out of his friends, mind you. Aster had seven sisters, a mother, and no father or brothers to stand with him in masculine solidarity. No amount of misguided teenage angst could possibly top the mood swings of eight women in the throes of simultaneous premenstrual syndrome. No need for panic here folks, Aster totally had this.

“So what bug flew up yer nose?” Aster didn’t even flinch when that surprisingly hard, steely glare settled onto him.

“Excuse me, asshole?” Ok, now that almost earned Jack a raised eyebrow, if only because he usually didn’t resort to such blatant name-calling.

“Look Jacko, you’re pissed. It’s pretty damn obvious. So if you think we’re just going to sit here and let you work it off on us, or not offer to listen to a mate in need, then you’re stupider than I thought.”

“I’M NOT FUCKING STUPID!” Now that, that did make Aster blink. In fact the whole table flinched at the sudden outburst, the students at the tables nearby turning to stare. There... was a lot of old hurt there, that much was obvious. Aster opened his mouth but didn’t have time to say anything because Jack was leaping to his feet, snatching wildly for his bag to make a run for it. Aster reacted purely on instinct; leaping up to grab the boy’s shoulders and forcibly sitting them both back down. The angle pulled Jack closer to Aster’s body, the tow of them nearly overlapping each other on the narrow bench. Jack made a sound that could only be described as a snarl, twisting in Aster’s firm grasp in an attempt to escape. Aster for his part simply dug his fingers into bony shoulders, surprised by how little there was to the boy beneath his perpetually oversized clothes. Jack struggled harder, digging his fingernails into the back of Aster’s hands in an effort to make him let go, and finally, Aster lost his patience.

“ENOUGH!” The volume was impressive, for sure, startling the surrounding tables once again, but it was the totally no-nonsense tone that actually made the boy freeze, brilliant blues snapping up to meet Aster’s own warm green. “Enough Jack.” Aster said, voice softer, soothing, hands released the boy only to rub gently at the likely bruise shoulders. “Whatever’s got you so riled up can be fixed, yeah? You just gotta tell us about it.” Jack stared back, obviously debating the merits of discussion versus fleeing; seeming to know that if he tried to leave again, Aster wouldn’t stop him this time. Of a moment, he sighed, slumping into Aster’s shoulder. Aster for his part didn’t say a word, just held the boy a bit tighter, wrapping one arm around the skinny shoulders to hold the boy, and the other moving up into unnaturally white hair to massage the boy’s scalp. 

Jack stayed, silent and needy in Aster’s arms for a few long moments, before he finally began to speak. The words were slightly muffled but still audible where his mouth was pressed into Aster’s collarbone, the warm exhale of his breath making Aster shiver just a little.

“Memory loss, reduced attention span, poor judgment and decreased coordination.” Huh, sounded like a laundry list of hardcore suckage right there, Aster couldn’t help but think, even if he wasn’t sure of the relevance.

“Jack, we don’t understand…” Tooth broke in gently, and Jack shifted his head a bit so he could crack one eye at her, the action moving his mouth away from Aster’s skin and filling the taller man with disappointment. 

“Those are the side effects of mild Cerebral Hypoxia.” Across the table, Aster saw Sandy sit up a bit straighter, the expression on his face saying in no uncertain terms that the name had meaning to him. 

“Jack, what is this... Hypo something you tell of?” North’s usually booming voice had taken on a gentle quality, the kind you’d hear someone using to soothe an easily startled animal. Which wasn’t inaccurate, as Aster could feel Jack’s quickened heartbeat within his skinny chest where Jack was pressed to him. Quick, skittish, rapid heartbeat and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice? Jack was just a frightened rabbit right now, nothing more. The boy in Aster’s arms swallowed audibly, tensing slightly before pushing himself back up, arms crossing tightly over his chest as he began to explain.

“When I was fourteen, I took my kid sister ice-skating o the local pond. All the kids went, but that year had been warmer than most. We knew enough to stay away from the middle, at least the older kids did, but I looked away for just a moment, and when I looked back, Emma was too far out, and I could hear the ice cracking. I grabbed a hockey stick, took my skates off and tried to get closer. The ice was cracking more and more, and she was so scared, and I just kept telling her it would be okay. And it was, for her, she was able to grab the end of the stick and I pulled her off the thin ice. I was too heavy though, and I fell under. At least, that the story as I’ve been told it. I don’t actually remember. I woke up in the hospital three days later missing two years worth of memories and was told that I’d flatlined three times in the ambulance They thought they were going to lose me.”

Jack pauses here, obviously shaken, and Aster can’t stop himself from reaching out to place a hand on the boy’s knee in reassurance. Jack shoots him a quick, grateful grin, placing his and over Aster’s and lining their fingers together.

“I was without oxygen for about seven minutes before some of the observing parents managed to pull me out and start CPR. I should have been a vegetable, but the funny thing about cold water is that it actually buys you a little bit more time. I lost the memories though, and things were… harder, after. I changed. I got flightier, less focused, more prone to making poor decisions, and I got clumsier. My art got harder, like, my fingers just didn’t want to listen anymore. I went to psychologists and physical therapists and doctors and specialists and its gotten better, but the lack of air… well, it shows sometimes.” Here, Jack’s face settled into an expression so flat Aster knew that he could only be trying to hide the hurt. “I hate being called stupid. Dumb, idiotic, retarded, stunted, I hate it all, cause it’s technically true. I’m brain damaged.”

The table was utterly silent for a moment, the occupants carefully absorbing that thought. It was Sandy who spoke first, Leaning forward, two fingers tapping his throat in a repeat of the gesture he’d made the first day they’d met, Sandy’s smile seemed to say _‘it’s okay, you’re not the only special snowflake at the table.’_ Jack must’ve gotten the message, because he smiled.

“You guys… it doesn’t matter?”

“It matters to us, only because you are friend! Better understanding of you only strengthens these bonds. We do not care about differences Jack, you are exactly who you are meant to be!” Nicholas was back at top volume, beaming across the table like a proud Papa at the younger boy. Jack couldn’t help but smile even wider despite having to wipe furiously at his suddenly watery eyes; Nick’s grins were infectious that way. And those weren’t tears, no, just a bit of hay-fever acting up, for sure. “Besides!” The large Russian continued, “Aster is a vegan! That is much worse a little bit of forced breath-holding.”

“Oi! Lay off, mate! I can eat what I want!” Aster snapped back, but there was little real heat. This was an old argument between them, and neither really carried any actual hurt feelings about the snide comments and little digs. “If we’re going to be like that, then you absolutely have to know that Nick was born without an indoor voice, and what a handicap that is, let me tell you.” This made Jack laugh a little.

“Devilishly handsome though. I wanna show Santa his picture, so he’ll know what I want for Christmas. So if a fat man puts you in a bag one night, you better brace yourself, Nick!” Jack leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand and batting his eyelashes dramatically at the aforementioned man while making kissy faces. This sent the larger man into uproarious laughter, as most of Jack’s antics usually did now that everyone was used to his over-the top flirtation. Even Tooth couldn’t stop the unladylike snort of amusement. Aster, despite the momentary flare of jealously, couldn’t quite hold back his own chuckle, giving Jack’s hand a bit of a squeeze beneath the table. The boy looking over at him sidelong, nearly drowning Aster with that liquid blue gaze. And okay, possibly a bad choice of metaphor, all things considered, but Aster’s brain never quite seemed to function properly in Jack’s presence. Must’ve been the dyed hair, that white was very distracting. 

“Well, if we’re airing our personal faults, I have a violent temper.” The whole table turned to look at Tooth, skeptical. “No, really!” She insisted, sitting forward. “There’s a reason why Pitch started the whole Tooth nickname, you know.” 

“Aaaannnd…?” Jack leaned closer in anticipation.

“And, well, I might have punched him in the face once. And maybe, knocked out an incisor?” Tooth looked suddenly shy, like the judgment of god himself was about to rain down. What she got was an overly enthusiastic Jack practically vibrating out of his seat. 

“Oh. My. GOD! Tooth, are you serious? What the hell, how’d that even happen?” Jack crowed, bouncing so hard he was nearly tumbling off the bench. Sandy was blinking, obviously shocked, and Nick was torn between looking slightly horrified, and a lot impressed.

“Well, he’s mellowed a lot since then, let me tell you! But, three days into term our freshman year I ran into him in the hall by accident, and spilled my frappuchino on one of those god-awful vampire shirts he wears. Anyway, he loses his temper and called me a ‘clumsy, tawdry, painted whore.’ I responded with a right hook. In retrospect, I think I only did so much damage because he wasn’t expecting it. So there he is sitting on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and just staring at me like I’m some kind of crazy lady, and I, well…” here Tooth fidgets looking absolutely mortified. “I kinda flipped him a quarter and told him that he could have my ‘tips’ for the day to call someone who cared.”

That does it; Jack actually does tumble from the bench he’s laughing so hard, nearly dragging an equally hysterical Aster down by their still-conjoined hands. Sandy is red-faced and howling his strange, soundless laughter, and Nick is pressing loud, smacking kisses to one of Tooth’s flushed cheeks, murmuring to her of his pride in his ‘little warrior queen.’ Tooth has the grace to look abashed at her poor behavior, speaking louder to be heard over the commotion.

“I apologized to him later, once I’d calmed down. I even offered to pay his dental bill, but he waved it off and said it’d teach him to underestimate the Tooth Fairy, now wouldn’t it? Anyways, the nickname spread, and now, even the teachers call me Tooth. I don’t mind it, really…” Tooth still looked a bit sheepish, not that Aster could blame her. Beside him, Jack had righted and calmed himself, as had Sandy and Nick. They settled into a comfortable silence then, for a moment, just enjoying the sun and the company. Eventually, Jack stirred, picking up his forgotten pen and readying his notebook.

“So, to work, my lovelies?”

“To work!” Sandy signed, and laughing, they did.

And if Jack took his hand again under the table, well, Aster wasn’t going to say anything against it.


	5. In Which Aster has a Comeback for Nearly Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Aster, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

For most of Aster’s scholarly life, Friday nights had been sacred. Saturdays and Sundays were for study, for projects, for cramming in what little social time Aster allowed himself around his rigorous course load. Friday nights however, they were for him; for his side projects, for reading, for movie watching. Friday nights were the handful of hours a week that Aster took only for himself with the sole purpose to relax and rejuvenate before the madness descended again. 

So obviously, he must’ve gone round the twist; to have invited the bloody Frost brat home to his tiny bachelor pad on the last Friday night before the English presentation was due to spend some time proofreading their group essay.

He and Jack, alone in a one-room flat on the one night Aster Didn’t. Do. Company. Not like he did company often anyways, but it was the principle of the thing. The principle being, Aster was well and totally over his head with this one, if he was dragging the boy into his innermost sanctum on his most holy of evenings and he didn’t even mind.

Well, mind _much._ The boy had a way of trying the patience of Saints, he did.

“Hey Aster, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“Not as much as this conversation does, I’m sure.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

“Walk by again, then just keep right on goin,’ Jacko.”

“Wait! I’ve got it! What has 100 teeth and hold back the Incredible Hulk? My zipper!”

“Oh, so it’s green and prone to causing widespread panic and massive amounts of collateral damage?”

Jack huffs out a laugh, rolling over onto his back from where he’d been flopped on his stomach sideways with his chin propped on his elbows on Aster’s narrow twin bed. The new position means his shoulders hang over the edge, head tipped back and the usual Cheshire grin an upside-down moon on pale lips. Despite himself, Aster is nearly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss the boy, to fit their smiles together backwards and see what happens. He’s not nearly impulsive enough though, and the moment passes as Jack wiggles again, tossing his arms above his head to drag haphazardly upon the ugly carpet.

“Man, when you said you had a comeback for every one of my lines, I didn’t think you meant it!” Aster can’t quite hold back the snort.

“That’ll learn you to make bets against your elders n’ betters, Jackie.” The boy for his part never loses his grin, suddenly sitting bolt upright like a Vampire rising from a coffin. The move is executed relying solely on the power of what must be surprisingly powerful abdominals, and Aster feels an answering clench in his belly that floods him with heat.

Later, Aster. After term, when things have settled, and you know where you’re going to wind up now that graduation is inevitable. No sense in starting something you can’t see through, right? 

_Coward._

“Yeah well, lesson learned, oh wise one. Gimme that memory key, I’ll do the final revisions, as promised. Presentation 11am on Tuesday?” Jack spins as he speaks to face Aster properly, long, slender toes tapping against the aforementioned ugly carpet. Aster can’t fight back and answering smile at Jack’s fidgety little rhythm. 

“Yeah, sure mate. Don’t miss it though, that’s the final version and we’re counting on you.” Jack offers one last little smirk as he slips out the door.

“Don’t worry, nothing will go wrong.” Jack leaves then, even as Aster wishes that he would stay.

***** 

_Hey you’ve reached Jack’s refrigerator; his answering machine is broken, so speak slow after the beep, and I’ll write down the message and stick it to myself with one of these fruit-shaped magnets._

“Hey Jack, its Tooth, where are you? It’s 9 am Tuesday and we haven’t heard from you yet. Did you get the revisions done? We’re worried, please call.”

_Hey you’ve reached Jack’s refrigerator; his answering machine is broken, so speak slow after the beep, and I’ll write down the message and stick it to myself with one of these fruit-shaped magnets._

“Jack, is Nick, where are you? Presentation is in ten minutes, we have nothing without you and little memory stick, please come quickly. Jack, we are waiting.”

_Hey you’ve reached Jack’s refrigerator; his answering machine is broken, so speak slow after the beep, and I’ll write down the message and stick it to myself with one of these fruit-shaped magnets._

“Jack, its Aster. Without you here, without that essay we all got zeros for incompletion. Thanks for that, mate. Y’know, some of us had our graduations riding on passing this class? (Indistinct rustling noises) We never should’ve trusted you. I never should’ve... (More rustling, message cuts off)

_The mailbox belonging to this wireless customer is full, please try back again later._

***** 

“The diagnoses came through Friday afternoon. My cell was turned off for class and then working with you, Aster, so I didn’t get my mom’s messages until I got back to my dorm after.” Jack’s face is wane, dark circles smudged beneath red-rimmed brown eyes. The contacts are missing, replaced by the glasses that Jack had worn they day they first met. The white hair was also, missing, only much more literally; it had been shorn off right to the scalp, and only the barest hint of brunet had started to creep back. There was a tension in Jack’s frame, from the set of this shoulder right down to the death grip he had on his coffee, and combined with the shaved head, the obvious exhaustion and the ratty jeans and baggy hoodie the boy had donned, gave him the air of a man who’d aged decades in days. No doubt, there was something old in Jack’s eyes, something that had grown their only recently. “They were starting an aggressive round of chemotherapy immediately, so I dropped everything and left. My parents had the plane ticket waiting at the airport already, so I hopped a cab and...” Jack trails off, clutching the cardboard cup with hands that shake and something in Aster breaks a little. “I’m sorry. God, I didn’t even think to call, or text, or anything other than that I needed to get home, because my sister is sick and the odds aren’t good and I...” Jacks voice cracks a bit and Tooth steps forward to take him into her arms, but Jack steps away, miserable, and she falters. “I already spoke to the Prof, and the Dean. I’ve turned in the essay; you’ll be contacted about an alternate time to make the presentation. In return, I’ve agreed to take the zero.” Nick gasps, and it’s the first sound that any of them had made since Jack had tracked them all down at their favorite picnic table, three days after their English project had crashed and burned.

“Jack! You cannot do this, it is not fair...”

“My sister slowly dying of cancer at the age of twelve isn’t fair Nick.” Jack’s voice isn’t accusatory, it’s flat, dead. It’s a voice of a boy without hope. “I’m taking zeros on everything. Academic hiatus for family emergency; I have a year to re-enroll without losing the credits I have so far but the classes this semester won’t count, because I’m not sitting my finals. I fly back tonight. The only reason I came here at all was to sort things out so you guys didn’t have to suffer for my fuck ups.”

Aster isn’t the only one who flinches a little as Jack speaks. It doesn’t make him feel any less guilty for his actions though, especially not when Jack continues.

“It’s in her bones, guys. It’s everywhere, it’s still spreading, and they don’t think... Well, they suggested we spend as much time with her as possible.” Jack’s face is grim, and Aster can’t help but let his eyes stray to the shave head, wondering if somewhere in a hospital a little girl with the same smile as Jack was watching her hair fall out, strand by strand on her pillow, in her hairbrush. No, Aster didn’t have to wonder; he knew that somewhere that girl was staring her own mortality in the face, but knowing the whole time that her big brother was coming back, was going to be by her side.

Sandy steps forward, signing swifter then Aster could follow, and Jack’s lips twitched just the tiniest bit in gratitude.

“Thanks Sandy, I’ll remember. I know it’s a lot, but could I ask you to help Pitch get the last of my stuff packed and shipped? He has my address; I just won’t have time to deal with it all.” Sandy nods; clapping Jack on one thin shoulder. Jack allows the contact, but barely, looking ready to bolt the whole time. “Sorry again, guys. Look, I know you’re all graduating and I won’t see you again, so just... Take care?” It’s more a question then a statement, but then Jack is gone, almost fleeing into the pressing mid day crush of students milling about. Aster’s off after him like a shot, the reaction instinctive, overriding his logical brain. He catches the boy as he passes through the gate between the campus proper and the on-campus housing. One strong hand grasps Jack’s frail upper arm, firmly but gently stopping halting his progress and bringing his around so they faced each other. For a moment, Aster felt the words freeze in his throat, but the next they were spilling loose, and then Jack was talking with him, over him.

“Jack, please, you need to know...”

“I already know, Aster, you need to...”

“...That I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...”

“...Let me go, I have a lot to do in the next couple hours, and I can’t...”

“...I wouldn’t have said it if I had, God I shouldn’t have said it anyways...”

“...do this right now, okay? I can’t do this with you Aster? Okay? Enough. Just, enough. Let me go.”

The last bit sinks in, and Aster falls silent even though he doesn’t want to, even though all he wants is to hold Jack, to help him, to somehow _fix things_ so Jack will never have this look of anguish on his face again.

“Let me go, Aster.” Slowly, Aster relaxes his grip, letting Jack have his arm back. Jack shifts a bit, toe bumping the dropped and forgotten coffee cup, cold espresso leaking slowly into the grass at his feet. 

“Jack, I... If there’s anything you need...”

“I need my sister to live Aster.” Jack’s voice is hard, frustrated, and Aster can’t swallow past the lump in his throat. “I have to go. I can’t do this with you right now, but I know, okay? I know.” Jack’s face is solemn, but not cold, and Aster takes what comfort in that he can. “See you round, Kangaroo.”

Jack turns to leave, and Aster wants to chase him, to call to him, to do anything but watch his slim back walk away, weighted down with the world on his shoulders. Aster can’t find the words though; he is useless and unable to help, only able to hinder, so instead he lets him go. Soon Jack’s retreating form grow blurry with the tears in his eyes, but Aster refuses to cry over his mistakes.

Crying in sympathy because Jack is grieving, however, is absolutely permitted.

***** 

 

The remaining four give their presentation two days later, and walk away with solid B’s for their efforts. Two weeks later they don their gown and walk the stage to the applause of their friends and family. Aster’s whole brood has come out, and while he’s thrilled to have them all there, mingling with his classmates on the back lawn during the reception, the day is not as happy as it should be.

“We all miss Jack. He has a way about him, of filling a space to bursting without taking up much for then a handful of actual physical real estate.” Pitch’s words surprise Aster, although he should be more than used to the man sneaking up on him by now. “Tell me though, Aster of the emotional constipation; will you spend your days moping, or will you act?” Pitch wanders off after that, but not before slipping a crisp, folded piece of paper in Aster’s hand. 

Aster manages to ignore the paper until he climbs into bed that night, having seen his family safely to their hotel for the evening. The curiosity has been burning a hole in the back of his mind all day however, so despite his reservations, he carefully unfolds the sheet, reading the words in the dim light from his bedside lamp.

There, in Pitch’s spidery script, is the mailing address for one ‘Jackson Overland Frost.’

Beneath it is a short note.

_‘It is shameful to waste one’s chances. Do not give yourself cause for regret.’_

No, Aster decides, no he won’t.

Bed forgotten, Aster stands and shuffles over to the bar top island he usually sat at to do his homework, locating both pen and paper from his stationary drawer. 

Sleep could wait a little bit; right now, Aster has a letter to write.


	6. Epilogue: In Which We See the Sun Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its ass-fuck o’clock in the morning when Aster’s buzzer goes. He ignores it at first, figuring it must be some drunkard with the wrong flat, because who else would be trying to rouse him at 3:07 am on a Saturday morning?

Its ass-fuck o’clock in the morning when Aster’s buzzer goes. He ignores it at first, figuring it must be some drunkard with the wrong flat, because who else would be trying to rouse him at 3:07 am on a Saturday morning? It isn’t until the buzzer’s been going for five minutes straight that Aster finally stumbles from the warm cocoon of his blankets to answer. By the time he gets to the door, the buzzer is being jabbed in the tune of ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ and Aster swears to any God that will listen, as he angrily wrenches the door open, that the smug little shitstain on the other side is going to _pay_ for...

Red plaid scarf.

Black button down over some obscure grey band t-shirt

Well-worn Batman converse sneakers.

Black plastic-rimmed glasses hiding soulful chocolate eyes.

Fluffy brown hair that’s grown in longer and therefore more chaotic than normal over the last eight months.

Aster blinks at the boy once or twice, still mostly asleep and not yet at full processing power. He slowly closes and locks the door, keeping eye contact with an unusually silent hipster until the last second. He then proceeds to breathe deeply for five seconds, before unlocking the door and opening it again.

Sure enough, Jack Frost is on his doorstep.

“Hey Aster, what’s up?” Aster has to swallow twice in a suddenly dry throat before he can respond.

“I am, now. It’s three am and you’re two states away from where you’re supposed to be, Jack. What’s going on?” The boy’s eyes slide sideways a little, deferring.

“Coffee at the overnight diner down the road? My treat.” Jack’s obviously avoiding answering the question, but Aster decides to let him, figuring his Welcome Mat isn’t the best place to have this conversation. He lets Jack in long enough to haul his softest, oldest hoodie on over his bare chest, figuring his cotton Ghostbusters pajama pants were decent enough for a trek to the diner. Sliding his feet into an ancient par of flip flops, he and Jack depart the flat, making their way to the local 24-hour diner. 

The food offered was greasy but good, the coffee never burnt and the prices reasonable, so the diner usually did brisk business during the school year, jammed full of insomniac art students at all hours of the day and night. Now though, three days before spring term was set to start, it was a veritable ghost town. Aster and Jack took the booth at the back, both ordering the coffee, and Jack what was affectionately known the ‘Heart Attack Special.’ They ate and drank in total silence, both heavy with thought, Aster doing his best not to turn his nose up at the sheer amount of bacon slowly disappearing from Jack’s plate down his gullet. For a skinny little brat, he ate a ridiculous amount of absolutely anything put in front of him. Eventually though, the food was done, and they were left staring at each other, nursing their third coffee refills. It’s Aster who takes the leap of faith and breaks the awkward silence.

“So, I landed this illustrator gig...” Jack’s voice cuts Aster off halfway through the sentence.

“I know, a week after graduation. It didn’t require relocation, so you stayed cause you liked the city and liked the weather and liked your little apartment, even though you complain about it all the time.” Jack’s voice is even, reciting the facts like a man whose spent time memorizing them. “Nick and Tooth went to New York; they’re both still getting settled in but love it there, together. Sandy and Pitch would up in Vancouver; they’re currently working on a very-low budget horror movie filming up there in Canada. Both are convinced it’s going to redefine the genre as we know it.” The twist of Jack’s lips is vague, but definitely fond, and Aster can feel his heart start to thump a bit faster. “I read all your letters, every one, over and over and over again. Eventually, I mean. At first I just kept tossing them into a pile, too busy with Emma to care, but it turns out there is a lot of time spent sitting around waiting while she was getting treatments, or sleeping a treatment off, or what have you, so I started reading them, and then I couldn’t stop.” Jack pauses here, his expression falling, shuttering, and Aster braces himself for the words he knows are coming. 

“The funeral was last month.” Turns out, there isn’t enough bracing in the world for news like that and Aster feels the words like a physical punch to the gut, throat tightening and chest aching in sympathy.

“Hell, Jack, I’m so sorry.” Jack shrugs, his skinny shoulders rising and falling recklessly.

“She was suffering, towards the end. It was... almost a relief, by that point. She wasn’t going to miraculously get better, so she didn’t have to try and hold on anymore. She was a trooper though, lasted longer than they thought, and in better health then they Doctor’s had figured, too. When things went south they went suddenly, so the last few weeks were a nightmare, but the few months leading up to that were... well, less so, I guess. I mean, it was the sword of Damocles over our heads there the whole time, but when she wasn’t sick from the pills or getting jabbed with needles you could almost forget.” Jack’s smile is wistful, and Aster can’t see any bitterness, so he hopes that Jack has made his peace. “We got our chances to say goodbye, which is more than some get, I guess. We were lucky that way I suppose.” Jack sounds a little sceptical about the being lucky part, but Aster figures he’s earned that.

“I woulda come, had I known.” Aster regrets the words instantly, afraid that Jack will hear in them an accusation that doesn’t exist, but the boy doesn’t appear to in the slightest. 

“I didn’t know how to ask.” Jack doesn’t elaborate, so Aster lets it drop for the moment, shifting a bit on the worn vinyl of the booth before asking the question that’s been burning on the tip of his tongue the whole time.

“So why here? Why now?” Jack shrugs again at Aster’s question, leaning back against the booth like the effort of sitting up was suddenly overwhelming.

“I’m re-enrolled this semester, unpacked into my new dorm this morning. My roommate’s a freshman named Jamie; he’s cool so far I guess, but he’s not you, though.” For the first time since arriving at the diner Jack makes eye contact, and something in his gaze freezes Aster solid. “I couldn’t sleep, knowing you were so close, I just had to... to see you, or something. I don’t know. I figured even if you told me to fuck off and come back at a normal time, it would be enough.”

“Jack...” Aster starts, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat, but Jack carries on as if he hasn’t spoken, so Aster shuts up and listens

“You don’t know, Aster, what those letters meant to me. I know I never wrote back I just... couldn’t. Couldn’t find it in me to write about my sister’s last days, I didn’t know how to immortalize those raw, ugly feelings on paper. But, reading about you, about the new things in your life, the silly day-to-day things we used to talk about, it kept me grounded. It reminded me, that you were here, that there was something outside the grief and anger and pain. I couldn’t...” Jack trails off momentarily, eyes looking suspiciously red and watery. “I didn’t know what to say to you, but it was enough, to read your words and hear your voice in my head. You kept me sane, Aster. Thank you doesn’t really cover that.”

By this point, Aster’s eyes are just a teary, and he can’t stop himself from reaching across the table to grab Jack’s hand tightly. Jack squeezes back just as hard, and that seems to be his breaking point, because he’s crying openly now, silent tears slipping down his pale cheeks to drip onto the battered Formica tabletop.

“I told you before that I couldn’t do this, with you. And I couldn’t then. But I think I can now, Aster. I think I don’t have a choice not to, cause I don’t know anymore how to be, without you there at my back.” Aster’s smiling a bit, holding back his own tears because Jack needs him to be strong. 

“You got me, Jackie, for as long as you’ll have me. Besides...” Aster trails off for a moment, hesitant, but figures _what the hell,_ and plows ahead. “Besides, waking up in bed with you wouldn’t be the _hardest_ thing in my morning, if yah know what I mean?” Aster follows it up with an over-exaggerated leer, complete with eyebrow-waggle. For a second, he thinks it’s going to fall flat but then Jack laughs; a thin, reedy sound compared to his full belly-chuckle, but it’s a laugh.

“Oh my god, Aster, did you just use a line on me?” Jack looks startled, and totally incredulous.

“Yeah mate, I musta. Figured you didn’t have the monopoly.” Jack allows the tiniest of smiles to curl the corners of his lips.

“I haven’t laughed since the funeral, I was afraid I’d forgotten how.” Aster can’t help himself, taking Jack’s hand now in his own and drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the knuckles.

“There now, Jackie. We can work on that.” Aster murmurs into the skin at his lips. Across the table Jack flushes an attractive pink, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his other hand to join the party, stroking gentle fingers along the backs of Aster’s hands.

They sit like that for a long time, while the coffee goes cold and the waitress leaves the bill at the end of the table.

When they leave the diner at dawn, they are still hand in hand; shoulder’s bumping as they venture forth into the brilliance of the brand new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all there is, folks. As someone who's both lost people to cancer, and who knows many survivors, I hope I was able to treat this topic with the dignity and sensitivity it deserves. This didn't quite turn out how I'd imagined when I sat down to fill these prompts, but I'm satisfied regardless. Thanks to everyone for their comments, feedback and Kudos, it means a lot. 
> 
> And now, onto the next project...

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to my Dreamwidth, Fanfiction.net, and the ROTG Kink Meme.


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